Free The Boy Under the Table by Nicole Trope Page A

lunging for Tina.
    Tina scooted to one side, bumping her head and shoulder, and dropped the knife. She slipped out from under the table between the man’s legs and stood on the other side of the kitchen.
    ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girlie?’ said the man. He had a slight smile on his face. He was ready to play.
    Tina knew there was no reason to say anything.
    ‘You don’t want to be playing the hero here, luv. You belong on your knees and maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you live.’
    Tina held her tongue. He sounded like he was reading his speech off a cue card. He sounded like some stupid horror-movie villain. He sounded like the arsehole he was. Tina knew that what she should be feeling was fear but all she could feel was the churning anger in her stomach leaping and growing.
    Some people should not be allowed to exist.
    The man started towards her. He moved slowly as if she might not figure out what he was trying to do.
    The boy under the table was curled up and small again. He was covered in Tina’s coat.
    Clever kid , thought Tina.
    She looked towards the door to the lounge room and in that moment she knew that she had been planning what to do all along. It hadn’t been a concrete idea, just an image somewhere in her mind. She had seen herself with her hands on the poker that stood next to the large fireplace. She had not known what her hands would do with the poker but she had seen them holding it, white-knuckled and tight.
    The man started towards her and she darted through the door and into the lounge room. A small lamp was on, giving her enough light to see.
    Thank you, universe .
    She went straight for the fire and didn’t even think about it. She picked up the poker and as she felt the man’s hand on her shoulder, she turned around and swung it, letting her anger and her fear give her the strength.
    It connected with his hip and he stepped back and then she swung again and this time it connected with his nose. Blood gushed everywhere.
    ‘Jesus, fuck,’ said the man, stumbling backwards across the room and onto a chair. He held one hand protectively over his nose.
    ‘You little cunt, you fucking slut,’ he said. The words came out hollow and slurred but Tina heard them.
    The man stood up and came back towards her and she swung the poker again. This time it connected with the side of his head and he went down.
    He lay on the ground with one hand over his nose and the other on the side of his head. Tina felt like she had been in the house forever but she knew it had only been minutes.
    She stood over the man with the poker at the ready. In the place of thoughts there was only a buzzing in her head.
    ‘Don’t, please,’ the man moaned. ‘Just stop, okay? Please, I’m begging you—I’m really hurt. My wallet’s in the bedroom on the chest of drawers. Please just take the money and leave. I won’t say anything to the police, I promise—just don’t hit me again, okay?’
    As the man’s voice changed from aggression to fear Tina felt her stomach loosen. He wasn’t so tough. He looked big and scary but he was just like anyone else. Not many people could stand up to a poker in the face.
    The desire to hurt the man rose up and bubbled in her throat. She wanted to hurt him for what he had done to the boy and for what he had made her do.
    Tina stared down at the man. Her body was fizzing with the power to end this man’s life. She felt her strength as she let the poker hover just above his head. The man had not said anything about the boy. He thought she was after his money and maybe she would just take it. It could buy her a few more meals and maybe a book or two. She could take his money but she would take the boy as well. The man did not see the possibility that she was only here for the boy. He deserved to die just for that. For thinking that the child had no worth to anyone other than himself to do god knows what with. She lifted the poker again and looked at his